


In War, Victory

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Here Lies the Abyss [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: It's time to free those Grey Wardens from corruption! Including Bethany. Especially Bethany. After a long journey to right past wrongs, Hawke has been thrown into the Abyss. The question is, will she conquer it? Or will she fall, much like in times past?Part 1 of the Here Lies the Abyss series.





	In War, Victory

Sticky. It was sticky and wet in the Fade, in this _physical_ form of the Fade, and Hawke wondered- no, she reminded herself- why she’d returned to it, especially after helping that poor elf-blooded child, Feyrnriel. Even though this was sort of an outstanding circumstance. Really, who gave the Inquisitor the right to be so...weird! Talia had fought so many by way of demons, some Qunari, some abominations and once, and even her own friends before but Maker above!

“You know, you could have...warned me this would be so icky,” Hawke said aloud. “I might not’ve worn my best grieves.”

Sigh. Why wasn’t anything easy?

She wanted to take in as many details as possible to tell stories about later- if she survived- knowing full well that at least Isabela would want to hear it. Fenris would be furious. Or disappointed. She wasn’t sure which would be worse, or which side he would be teetering on more.

“There.” The Inquisitor was shorter than she was- probably about Fenris’ height by the looks of it- though his aura was commanding and prickly enough to make him seem like a man two times his size. With white hair and blood red vallaslin, he certainly seemed like the kind of elf that would like to be called Inquisitor, and she couldn’t hold that against him. He shielded his eyes, staring into the distance as his own voice cascaded off of the walls, echoing words he’d told them he didn’t remember saying. “It’s there again. Maybe...hm. If we find another rift, we’ll find that blasted darkspawn,” he told them, his Dalish lilt tickling her eardrums a bit.

Hawke shrugged. “I’d rather not find him than release the Wardens from his power.” Bethany had to be suffering by now, surely. She would not let that stand.

“I can sense the rift somewhere over here.” Mamoru pointed past her and up several flights of stairs and pathways.

“Perfect. More stairs.” She stretched. “I guess I’m getting a workout today!”

* * *

 

There were graves. She wasn’t sure why she paid so much attention to them, to the names and the fears beside them. Every member of the inner circle of the Inquisition was listed there. Even Varric.

‘Becoming his parents’. She wondered what that meant. He never mentioned them. Maybe that was part of the precaution. Talia spared him a glance. Varric didn’t return it.

_“Your quest is foolish, Champion, and it will not spare you.”_

Champion. She hadn’t heard that name in such a long while that it didn’t bother her to be called it; when the darkspawn’s voice echoed off of the cavernous walls, she didn’t even blink. Best to ignore the buzzing of flies when they were bothering you. Or to swat at them until you drew blood.

“Surely we can go faster? That voice is starting to grate on the nerves,” she glanced at the Inquisitor, who seemed a touch concerned. He, too, was listening to something, though what, she did not know.

Mamoru did not answer. He simply began climbing another spire of steps, through another endless tunnel to a supposed end.

_“Fenris will die or leave you, just like everyone else. You think your sister will ever forgive you?”_

She stopped. Then, in a deliberate fashion, she reached back and tightened her grasp on the hilt of her two-handed blade. It was new and Fenris had suggested it to her, its name more benevolent than her others, less bitter and subtle in their disenfranchisement for her place in society. The Smile of the Maker.

She would soon bless Corypheus with it.

 _“You should be grateful that I ascend to godhood. For I have seen the seat of the Maker and it was_ empty _!”_ His cry shook the ground so thoroughly that the entire party had to stop.

“You don’t think the Maker might’ve...I don’t know, taken a bathroom break or something?” Talia scrunched up her face, a bit of the old humor she’d lost bubbling to the surface.

 _“Your wit will not save you from me, Champion. You have laughed your last.”_ Dark shapes screeched and scurried toward them.

“I don’t know,” she pulled her sword free from its scabbard, “I’m sure I’ve got a few more chuckles in me.”

It certainly helped to have a Qunari on your side; The Iron Bull was something of a joy to fight beside, and a Reaver, no less, like her. “You remind me of my husband,” she admitted. “But more horns. And bigger. Much bigger. You’re a very big man.” That actually flustered her a tiny bit, seeing as she was six feet tall and Fenris was two inches shorter than her.

“Hawke, don’t bother the Qunari,” Varric teased, but the Iron Bull didn’t seem too put off.

“You were the one who fought the Arishok, right? Did a damn good job. Poor guy’d forgotten his purpose,” Bull told her, putting his own cleaver away. As they jogged on, it became clearer to her that while the Inquisitor was acting strange, his companions were looking for something comfortable to hold on to. Hawke didn’t mind playing that role.

“I noticed. He was relatively reasonable at first, you know. Then it got all, you know. Stabby.” She shrugged with both of her hands. “Returned the relic, though. I hope there’s no hard feelings. Isabela didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m not the one to talk to about it. All I know is the matter’s done.” He shrugged too. Nice muscles. “Hey, you survived.”

She laughed. “Honestly, that’s better than nothing.”

The walls were definitely speaking to her now, wisps of warrior’s regrets, the unfamiliar landscape clearly a graveyard for those who had perished at the Conclave. Hawke was sorry to see it. “Can’t we...do something for these spirits?” She could feel the tug of the Fade around her, the connection that she could only be honest about with her closest friends, none of which- sans Varric, ironically her closest- were actually there. The sorrowful spirits of those stuck in limbo cried out to her. The Inquisitor, too, turned his head to her, his red irises clouded with worry. She wondered if he could tell they were one and the same in more ways than one.

“We’ll do what we can,” he agreed. “On our way, so as not to stay here too long.”

There were little letters inscribed in places if she dared look; the souls stuck in the raw Fade were all terrified of something. She found kinship with them. While the Inquisitor busied himself with finding the correct path and recovering his memories, she lit candles, broke mirrors, found skeletons and any such thing to help the lingering spirits, praying the Maker- or the Creators, if they happened to be elven- guide each and every one.

“You’re quite good at that,” Mamoru told her. “I suppose there’s a reason why they called you ‘Champion’.”

She snorted. “You say that like they didn’t award me the ‘most outstanding muscles’ award. That’s all Champion means.” She held up a finger. “For the record, I _would_ have won that award. It’s a shame they didn’t let me run for it.”

The Inquisitor shook his head. “I think the title suits you. I’ve never seen someone run into battle so fast. I see why those rampaging Qunari let you be.”

 _That_ made her blush a bit. “Oh, a charmer. Well, I’m married, so no more flirting for you,” she laughed, trying not to touch her cheek like a bashful maiden. Really, it made her feel embarrassed. What else was she supposed to do with the Smile of the Maker? Polish and bask in it instead of killing something?

It was after they passed over a steep hill that looked exactly like those behind her that she could see them, the walls taking on a sickly green color to differentiate the surroundings from the last patch of hell. Spiders. Or, they only _looked_ like huge, disgusting spiders. She’d had more than enough of those in the caves and on Sundermount back home. “Spiders,” she found herself saying. “Why is it always spiders?”

“Spiders?” The Iron Bull grunted, unsheathing his weapon. “That’s _not_ what they look like to me.”

“Oh, joy,” Hawke sighed, wondering if this was her final straw. “So we’ve got little fear demons to deal with. I wish Merrill was here to tell me everything was alright.”

Varric snorted. “She might even tell you to try befriending them.”

“Hah!”

She swung. It was not as difficult as it seemed, despite there being a horde of them. Scraping, screaming, skittering fearling spiders bared their fangs at her, her teeth grit in agony. Something was tearing into the flesh just under her arm, and when she found it her blade sunk deep into its head- or what should have been its head- it went limp. Perfect.

_“You think I should be grateful?”_

Spine tingling with the blood from a leftover fight, limbs shaking, she turned her head slowly. Where had the party gone?

 _“Bethany, it...I did what I could, I didn’t want you to_ perish _in the Deep Roads,”_ she could hear herself pleading, begging for forgiveness Bethany was not ready or able to give her. She could see her own hands still wearing their armor, the interior of Uncle Gamlen’s- no, _their_ house- dust and dirt against the tables, the chairs, that trusty ledger with letters on the desk.

 _“I’m still dying!”_ _Bethany screamed at her. “I lay in death’s throes for as long as it takes! Is this what you wanted for me?”_ Quieter, _colder_ , angrier, “ _You should have left me. The Circle would be better than this.”_

Her sword dropped into the sticky water beneath her feet. Cold. Too hot? Nerves too jittery to function-

“Hawke!”

Where had her sword fallen? She couldn’t fight without her sword, not technically. Useless with magic, all of that talent went to Bethany-

“HAWKE!”

Her eyes snapped upward. The Inquisitor was standing over her, his expensive-looking staff in hand, eyebrows furrowed as though he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, if his eyes were truly _seeing_ her for the first time.

It was here that she realized she was on her knees in the middle of the mess of Fade juices, her hands anxiously searching for a sword she couldn’t find. They held one another’s gaze for a while, and she wondered, exactly, what to say.

She didn’t need to, though. Mamoru reached out and took her by the arm and hoisted her to her feet. “Oh- Thank you. I...stumbled there a bit. You’re quite strong for a mage. Is it all of that halla milk they make you Dalish drink?” She joked.

His eyes flickered to her person and then back up to her face. Interestingly, he replied, “We don’t drink from the halla. Better to milk toads and dance in the glow of the moonlight for strength every night.”

“Really now?” Grateful that he’d played along, she discreetly pressed her hand to the back of her shoulder, touching where her sword, sheathed as it should be, sat. “Let me guess. You have to do all that while bearing your bits to the Maker?”

“Can’t work the proper magic if you aren’t stark naked,” he agreed, his hand falling to his side. “And I think I’ve found the exit.” To the rest of the party-including a man whose head was so round and bald that it made her think of an egg- he said, “Be careful. I think some very real fears are surfacing the longer we stay here.”

* * *

Hawke desperately wanted to ask what the Inquisitor was afraid of. He’d been so stoic this entire time, despite being overly chatty back at Skyhold and even in Crestwood. Then again, if she looked closely, she could see the lines around his eyes, like he was powering through something. Maybe it was better not to ask or know.

“Everyone has their own demons,” she said aloud. “Get it? Since we’re...in the Fade, with lots of- Oh, look. There are a couple of Pride demons over there. Anyone wanna bother them?”

She could feel the disapproval in her lighthearted humor at her back, but she didn’t apologize. Joking was the only real way to make these things smaller.

“There.” His fair cheeks were flushed, the lower parts of his eyelids ringed with something red, like he hadn’t slept in weeks, or stared too long at the sun. “That’s the exit.”

It was indeed another rift, that nauseous green color that split and cracked across the space the sky should normally be whole and alright. “So...how do you close those things? I doubt you just put a bandaid on it?”

A sharp laugh escaped him. “Actually, it’s like sewing up a wound, so close.”

“That’s….” She blinked. “Sort of fascinating, actually-”

The ear-splitting roar pulsed from beneath their feet into the air, knocking most of the available parties onto the ground- or at least grabbing onto something for support. Ground pulsing and parting before in their midst, a giant creature- twice the size of Hawke and the Iron Bull, to be sure- completely white and covered in fractured webs and a long, tattered cloak extended its hands to them, shrieking its high-pitched wail into the open air.

Talia smacked her hands over her ears, gritting her teeth at the piercing noise, though not before smartly realizing that she’d have a new story soon. Given she survived, of course.


End file.
